It was the best of rhymes; it was the worst of rhymes.
It was the page called “Prologue” ; it was the page called “Epilogue”.
It was the epoch of breweries; it was the epoch of leaving early to go there.
It was the season of pollen, it was the season of love bugs.
It was the spring of sprockets, it was the winter of water.
We had everything to the left of us; we had nothing to the right of us.
We were all going directly to the Farm Bureau; we were all going directly to Celebration Pointe.
